Illustration by Holly Whitnell
The January blues are real. It becomes difficult to remember what day of the week it is, and the prospect of packing up the decorations whilst returning to reality hits. High expectations are often built up around the final night of the year but unfortunately. New Year’s Eve can often be a damp squib. From social media it may appear as though everyone is having the most incredible evening, surrounded by glamorous friends and tequila shots. However, the reality for many people back home for the vacation is watching the bells on the BBC with a whisky. I felt the January blues cling to the horribly wet leaves of the pavement today; of course, it’s raining yet again.
Every year I look forward to starting a new journal and writing my resolutions. These resolutions often end up as broken promises, disintegrated before the Christmas chocolates are even finished. A common resolution of mine is to drink more water, but I never do. Perhaps all that two-litres a day nonsense is overrated. One idea I had this year was to not look at social media before the clock strikes twelve noon. This prevents starting my day with mindless scrolling, but my resolution didn’t last long.
A more realistic way to go about new year’s resolutions is to set goals instead. Some of my goals include writing in my diary every day and planning my year abroad. Setting a few goals each week can create a satisfying feeling of accomplishment without the pressure of turning your entire life around. After all, we’re still the same people when the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Day.
The prospect of collections is also a daunting one. Tutors use these mini exams as a chance to collect our intellect and make sure nothing has faded with the Christmas lights. Many freshers express their panic on Oxfess as they embark into this unknown territory. The comments are full of wise elders debating the importance of collections; but undeniably, sitting in a cold library with a past paper isn’t the most fun start to the term.
Starting term presents mixed emotions. I’m sad to leave behind the love of my life, my nine-year-old cockapoo, Tess. I’ll miss the little things like catching up with my Mum first thing in the morning, my bath (Bearlane’s communal and rumoured birthing pool), home-cooked meals, my favourite takeaway, and maybe even the miserable walk around the streets in the rain after lunch.
Waking up without the dread of an essay deadline has been peaceful. Nobody was returning from their night out, belting in the smoking area outside my room, accompanied by the rower’s loud 5am footsteps echoing from my window. However, after some restful days at home, I think I’m ready to return to the chaos of Oxford and meet Hilary head-on.